


Potions

by Chaotic_Dawn



Category: Dissidia Duodecim: Final Fantasy, Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy I, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_Dawn/pseuds/Chaotic_Dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squall’s brows furrow, “Potions taste horrible.”</p>
<p>He shouldn't even have to need a potion much less be beat to a bloody pulp in front of the one he cares for. Of course there's always one way to get paste the terrible taste of a potion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Starlight AT ( http://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAT ) for doing a read over~

The swirl of green energy making up his surroundings blur as he’s slammed into one of the floating pillars. The impact dazes him enough to where he merely falls to the circular rock platform below – barely managing to catch himself so that the impact doesn’t kill him. His breath comes in harsh pants as his knees begin to buckle. Stabbing his Gunblade into the ground, he manages to stay standing as he leans on it. Short brown hair sticks to his face from the mixture of sweat and blood, which manages to cover up the scar between his steel colored eyes. He can only imagine how he looks to his opponent – weak and dying. 

His black pants are scoffed and one of the knees is ripped open to show his scrapped skin. The belts criss-crossing over his hips attach a small black piece of cloth and to a singed piece of fur that had looked like the fur lining his short jacket, which is in worse shape. The right arm of the jacket is ripped open and the blood from the wound on his bicep stains the black even darker. The fur on his collar is matted with crimson and burned in places. The white shirt beneath his jacket is splashed with his own blood and his pants adorning slashes in them in several places. 

He briefly closes his eyes and tries to figure out why he even ended up in this battle. This person isn’t his rival in this damned war. Even worse, the man doesn’t seem to take any of this seriously; merely fighting as if it were entertaining for a brief moment. Opening his eyes he finds the man floating gracefully down onto the ground several feet in front of him. The brunet admits one thing to himself – this man reeks of intimidation.

Long silver hair cascades behind him and bangs hang to the sides of his pale face. His main attire is all black; boots, pants, belts, gloves, and flowing coat. White and lavender sashes are tied beneath his jacket by the means of an ornate belt with many colorful beads. On his right wrist he wears a bracelet with the same style of beads as well. Pauldrons sit on his shoulders, rising slightly as he brings his arms up into a charging pose. The long katana lifts into the air, aiming directly for him.

“You’re weaker than I thought…Squall Leonhart.” 

The brunet swallows hard as he readjusts his grip on his Gunblade, the blood trickling down his arm and onto his glove making it difficult to hold onto the hilt. Squall glares at the older man, “Whatever.”

The man smirks and charges forward, already beginning to swing his sword. Squall, in hopes to deter the attack, swings his Gunblade and surrounds his weary body with red orbs of energy. His opponent continues to charge forward and just as he’s close enough, Squall forces the orbs to explode. Stumbling from the energy it took up, he hears rustling above him. He neither cries nor has time to dodge as the silver haired man sails down at him – sword ready to impale him. 

His surroundings blur once again as he’s suddenly swept to the side. Instead of lying face first on the ground bleeding to death, he’s cradled over a kneeling knight’s lap. His head rests on the raised knee with a strong arm still secured around his chest. Tilting his head towards the armored chest, he looks up to see the last person he expected. “Thanks, Warrior of Light.” 

The knight wears a pale blue armor with gold details, a blue helmet with yellow horns, and a long khaki cape. A white shorter cape is also attached around his waist, acting as a skirt of sorts. Most of his long silver hair is hidden by his helmet and helps to keep out of the way of his bright aquamarine eyes. The man nods to him, hiding the surprise at the young man’s gratitude and turning his attention towards their now shared opponent. His hold tightens on Squall, “Sephiroth… do you intend to continue?”

The silver haired Warrior of Chaos holds his sword at the ready, “The killing is just as thrilling as the fight. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Warrior of Light lays Squall on the ground, avoiding the worried steel blue eyes telling him to get away. He stands in front of Squall and takes a deep breath, summoning both his sword and shield. Sephiroth slashes his blade in the air, sending waves of energy toward at the knight. He retaliates by stabbing his sword into the ground, sending out a shining wave of light to collide into Sephiroth’s attacks – neutralizing it.

However, that hadn’t been the attack Sephiroth meant to use to end this battle as his endurance is running low. As the screen of light resides from the two attacks, Sephiroth is already charging at Warrior of Light the same as he had done Squall. The knight doesn’t even bother to grab at his sword. He holds his shield out and exhales slowly, waiting for just the right moment.

Right as the tip of Sephiroth’s sword is about to smack into his shield, he releases a burst of light energy that sends the Warrior of Chaos flying backwards. He manages to get his feet beneath him and stop from being sent over the edge. He readies himself again just as Warrior of Light charges, throwing out his shield. Both warriors launch into the air in a flurry of swordplay – parries and counters aplenty.

Neither takes much notice as Squall pushes himself to sit up, watching as Warrior of Light is sent crashing back down to the platform. The knight struggles to get rid of the wobbling in his knees from the landing and manages to bring his shield up just as Sephiroth stabs downward. He pulls back and quick steps away from Warrior of Light, idling a moment before charging once more. His thrusts of his sword are quick until Warrior of Light slams his blade into Sephiroth’s sending him backwards once again. 

“You’re here to fight Cloud are you not?”

The mere mention of his rival makes Sephiroth’s green eyes sparkle with bloodlust. He runs forward, losing his sense of timing, as he raises his katana and prepares to bring it down upon the knight – who stands as still as stone. At the last possible moment, Warrior of Light feints slightly toward the right and dodges the blade, all at the same time as scraping the tip of his own across Sephiroth’s chest, to the left of his heart. 

Anger flares in his eyes as he prepares to bring his long sword down in an angle to catch the knight by surprise. However, out of the corner of his eye he catches the glint of icy blue and pulls his sword away. He has no time to dodge and the large icy bullet slams into his chest, knocking him back several feet. Once he recovers he glares at Warrior of Light before disappearing, not caring to waste his time or his skills any longer. 

Safe to say that they’ll only have a moment’s peace, he turns around and kneels – dismissing his weapons at the same time. Squall sighs heavily as he leans his arms over his upraised knees, looking as bad as he feels. Warrior of Light gives the brunet a smile, “Thank you Squall.”

A grunt is all he gets in return, the young man shifting uneasily under the other man’s gaze. The teen is surprised as a gloved hand gingerly touches the side of his face where a scrape mars his skin. He turns into the touch and scans the area to make sure no one is around. The second he’s satisfied that they’re alone he seems to let the metaphorical wall between them crumble. Warrior of Light pulls away and reaches into his pocket, retrieving a green vial.

“Here, drink this.” 

Squall’s brows furrow, “Potions taste horrible.”

“No, they’re simply bland.”

“Whatever…” he mumbles as he takes the vial and pulls the top off, downing the potion as quickly as he can. His lips draw into a thin line as he finishes and drops the empty container to the ground. Not missing a beat, he grabs at the front of Warrior of Light’s armor and forces him closer. In an instant his lips are pushing hard against the knight’s, who parts his generously and lets a tongue slip in. The brunet swirls his tongue against the other man’s, but only for a moment. Without fail he backs away quickly and acts as though he hadn’t instigated it in the first place, despite his reddening cheeks. 

“I see…” Warrior of Light takes that moment to slip his arms under the boy’s knees and around his back, lifting Squall into his arms.

Squall, frustrated and embarrassed, struggles to get down even as Warrior of Light stands. “What are you doing?” he sneers. 

“Seeing as you’re injured, I will carry you to the next location where we can find a Moogle and buy more potions for you. One isn’t going to be enough.” He glances down at the youth and can’t help but smile at the sour look on his face. He’s can’t recall ever being this happy, especially as he tightens his hold on him. “If you wore proper armor or perhaps even trained more, you wouldn’t have lost.”

“I didn’t lose.” He states sullenly. “You just interrupted. I did have the last hit.”

The deep voice rumbles with a soft laughter, catching Squall of guard as he looks up at Warrior of Light who had stopped walking. The raised eyebrow asks all the questions and the silver haired knight shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that was rather… cute.” A bright pink flares on the brunet’s cheeks and before he can turn away, he’s being lifted up enough for Warrior of Light to tilt his head down and kiss him. As he pulls away, Squall can only cross his arms over his chest and wince slightly at the pain still flustered. “You’re right… potions are quite bland.”


End file.
